


Lord and Servant

by CMDAK



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, M/M, Middle Ages, Servant Q, Torture, lord James Bond
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-19
Updated: 2017-02-19
Packaged: 2018-09-25 11:19:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9817838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CMDAK/pseuds/CMDAK
Summary: Q saw a lot of imperfections in his lord, despite the world seeing him as perfect. He was a hothead, he didn't really understand how the real world worked if one wasn't a nobleman or royal with no financial difficulties, and he seemed to chase after the most horrible of women in existence. But James was still his lord and he loved him.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Disgruntled servant Q idea popped into my head while watching Merlin. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy~

Sir Bond was the fairest in the land. Every female - be they of noble birth or otherwise - that saw his blue eyes instantly fell in love with him and either paid poets to wax flattering poetry to him - about him - in hopes of getting in his good graces or tried to catch his attention on his daily market visit by pushing all sorts of fruits in his arms. His knights also held him in the highest regard possible and trusted him so much with their lives that they did what they were instructed without a single second’s hesitation, no matter how dangerous his orders were. And the lords that met him! The way they looked at him and hanged on of his every word had you swearing on your life that they were as smitten as the ladies. In short, everyone thought that he was perfection incarnate.

 

Yet Q, his unfortunate personal servant, scoffed at the world. He agreed that the man was quite a sight for sore eyes – okay, more than a sight for sore eyes, especially when he deemed the world worthy enough of seeing him in a kilt – but Sir Bond was far away from being truly perfect as he was a conceited, pompous, vain, uppity, snooty, toffee-nosed man-child who didn’t know what love was if it bit him on that fine arse of his and who tended to give that little black coal in his chest that he called a heart away to at least two new lovers every week.

 

That wasn’t to say that his lord was cruel, no. Lord Bond was, by far, one of the kindest noblemen that Q knew. He allowed his servants much more liberty than any others did and he had never ordered anyone flogged, hanged, whipped, or locked in the dungeons for making small mistakes or comments that people of their level weren't allowed to. But just because he had the bare minimum of common sense, that didn’t mean that he was perfect.

 

Q also knew without a doubt that the only reason why his lord was so fearless was because that big head of his was empty! There was no other explanation but that for why the dumb lord continued to fight when half of his chest was exposed or why he did not even bother to raise the shield - which Q spent so many hours hunched over to make and clean - over his head when faced with a shower of arrows on fire. He was frankly surprised that his big, dumb head fit in that bloody helmet Q had to polish alongside with the rest of his armour every day and that he wasn’t polishing the ‘brave’ knight’s tombstone by now.

 

“Q!” The royal thorn in the side bellowed at the top of his lungs and the poor servant glared at the sky and asked for strength. “Q, you’re one hour late with breakfast,” Sir Bond continued to holler as he stomped in the direction he knew the kitchen to be and almost bumped into the tray carrying Q.

 

“Do my eyes deceive, or did my lord actually dress himself?” Q quipped because he could, and circled around the man in completely fake awe.

 

“I had no choice but to do that since my errand boy was nowhere in sight,” Sir Bond growled, crossing his arms over his chest and glared at Q. “What took you so long? Were you off tinkering with those dangerous toys that almost took your head off instead of seeing to your actual duties?”

 

Q had half a mind to dump everything on the silver tray he was carrying over the snobby lord, but he decided that he was going to be the mature one. “The food is getting cold, my lord, and surely you are exhausted from doing something menial for yourself, so why don’t I read off the list of things you gave me last night to do while you were testing your new bed?”

 

“Insolent prat,” his lord grumbled under his breath, flicking Q's nose as punishment for the way he spoke and then started to walk back to his chambers, Q almost tripping over the man’s extra-long dark blue velvet robes. “You can’t tell me that a few extra chores tired you to the point of not doing the duties that are expected of you?”

 

“A few, no, my lord,” Q said as he put the tray down with a little too much strength, picking up the knife so he could spread the butter on the freshly made bread. “But the twenty or so that were suddenly presented to me did have that effect. And they were all marked as important so I thought that feeding the royal pigs in order to keep them from squealing loud enough to wake the illustrious Lady Volpe took importance over—”

 

“You are getting close to crossing that line you always forget exists between us,” warned the lord, drumming his fingers on the table, right almost twitching.

 

“—feeding the most gracious, kind, warm, understanding, not lazy at all but very hardworking—”

 

“Go back to your tasks,” the man interrupted him, throwing a slice of clean bread at his head before starting to stuff himself. “And don’t forget to feed my loudmouthed servant after taking care of my beloved stallion that actually does what he's told.”

 

It was good to know that he came after the horse, but the pig came before his lord by the man’s own words. “As my lord commands,” he said in an overly dramatic way which got him another piece of bread tossed at his head.

 

And that was more than fine with him. The bread was the best in the land for it was made for its picky lord and it did give him enough energy to stay awake to feed the stubborn horse who always insisted on confusing his hair with the hay. A ridiculous thing, of course, since his lord’s hair was closer in colour to it than his brown untameable mess, but the horse didn’t care. He just kept on munching, blowing hot air in his face when Q pushed their foreheads together in an attempt to emulate that one glare Sir Bond did when he was facing his enemies, and then nudge him back so he could lick him and try to make him bald again.

 

But he was used to that. The animal decided his hair was tasty since Q had been a young boy hiding from a storm in the noble stable and he a hungry colt. The young lord Bond had saved him then, laughing at him together with his future riding companion as he pointed at two teeny tiny kittens kipping in a corner and saying that he better run since they had sharp teeth and they were really hungry.

 

Now, he might think of his lord’s head as dumb, but every now and then the man proved that he did have at least a speck of a brain. The young lord took a single look at him after the kittens were done turning him into their bed and instantly knew his story. He allowed him to stay in the stables for the duration of the storm, tossing fresh fruit at his head, claiming that he was too full and that he liked to see him try to dodge.

 

Q was outright praying for the storm never to stop, but the skies cleared up after three days, the soft and warm rays of the sun washing over his face, making him cringe. He tried to hide behind the stacks of hay when a tall man with a very sharp sword entered the stables, but the bloody foal wasted no time revealing his hiding place.

 

“My name is Alexander Kincade,” the moving mountain said in a surprisingly soft voice as he easily picked him up by the scruff of his neck. “What’s your name, whelp?”

 

Q had shrugged because at that time he was without the name – had been without one for quite a long time – and tried to make himself as small as humanly possible, holding out the half eaten pear he had left from the previous night. “I didn’t steal this, m'lord, honestly and I can’t pay for it for I haven’t gotten any money.”

 

The man snorted, shaking his head as he lumbered towards the huge castle and Q started to struggle because he really didn’t want to see the inside of a dungeon. “Firstly, as you are the 17th stray the young lord picked up this week, you’ll be known as Q and secondly, we are well aware of the fact that orphans don’t have money, so you’ll work in the kitchen.”

 

“In the kitchen that’s not in the dungeon?” He whispered, stilling.

 

Kincade snorted, nodding. “I have yet to see a dungeon where a kitchen would be useful and I pity the souls of those who did.” He pulled a disgusted face, shivering. “You’ll also sleep in the kitchen, but remember that the food you handle in here belongs to our lords and masters, not to you. If you are caught stealing or eating what isn’t yours, you will be punished.”

 

He entered a large, warm room, which smelled so good that Q’s stomach decided to make itself known to everyone within hearing range and turned Q around so they could lock eyes. “Did I make myself clear, boy?” Q nodded mutely and the man released his hold on him, smiling kindly as he pushed a large loaf of bread and some cheese in his hand. “Good, now eat that and then ask the cook to give you a list of your duties. Or explain them to you since I don't think you can read.”

 

For the first month, he was stuck with scrubbing the floors, then he was moved to washing the plates and then to actually carrying trays of food. That was when he started to see the young lord again, baffled when the noble asked him to taste his food every time.

 

“James, don’t tease the poor boy,” Lady Bond would berate her son, signalling Q over to her side so her handmaiden could wipe his mouth after which she’d push a fruit in his hand. “Do be a good boy and fetch my son new silverware. And pay no attention to his talk of people wanting to kill him. He just hates vegetables and has you digging around his plate for them.”

 

Q never minded that he was a ‘vegetable seeker’, especially since he never got sick and his food ration wasn’t cut and that was a job that even as an adult he was tasked with doing, although now he simply had the cook mash the vegetables in the soup because of course his lord was still imature.

 

“Should I have you on bed testing duty?” The current Lord Bond asked him as he poked him out of the land of dreams.

 

“The hay was moist and I was trying to dry it with my body,” Q muttered, rubbing his eyes and fighting back a yawn. “What are you doing here? Do I need to make your armour shiny again?”

 

The man scoffed and flicked Q’s nose. “I should have you flogged for the way you speak to me. I’ve heard of lords executing servants for less.”

 

Q had also heard of that and he thanked the one lucky star he had shining above him that Lord Bond was not a cruel lord, but that didn't mean he was going to change the way he acted. “You won’t because you like the fact that my lips aren’t permanently attached to your ass and that I speak my mind.”

 

“I like the way you polish my armour,” Q was corrected. “I’d have your mouth sewn shut if I could,” his lord continued, crossing his arms over his chest as he looked between his horse and servant. “Well?”

 

Frowning, Q checked the animal. The beast had been fed, washed, and the horseshoes were properly placed, so why was he getting the ‘you didn’t do what I told you to do’ look? “Do you want me to start plucking the grey hairs from his mane or what?”

 

Bond scoffed. “Why doesn’t he have the saddle on?” He asked exasperatedly and Q looked very confused at him. “A horse needs to have a saddle on to be ridden and I know you have enough of a brain not to expect me to go hunting by foot,” he continued to explain very slowly and Q bit his tongue to not remind the man that many commoners did exactly that.

 

“Don’t you normally hunt on Friday?” Q asked as he set about to prepare the animal, sighing when he horse shrugged the saddle off. “You’re a bloody stubborn pest, you know that Aston?” The horse looked quite proud of himself, dragging his hove against the ground as he neighed.

 

Q threw the saddle back on and Aston looked like he planned on shrugging it off again, but stopped when Bond started to gently rub the top of his head. “There, there, darling. Let’s not make the easiest task in the world even harder for Q than it already is,” he gently said and then turned to tut at the man. “I know you don’t know how to act around nobility, but I was sure you’d at least know that Thursday, which was yesterday, is immediately followed by Friday, which is today.”

 

“Oh,” was all Q said, checking to see if the flank billet was properly tied as it would be a huge shame if his lord and master fell and broke his neck. “It must have slipped my mind.”

 

“I am in complete and utter shock,” Bond deadpanned, straddling Aston. “Am I to assume that it also slipped your mind to eat?” He rolled his eyes at Q’s guilty smile, urging the horse to start moving. “How did father expect you to take care of me when you forget to take care of yourself?”

 

Every now and then, both Lord Bond and him thought of the exact same thing, this question still plaguing Q so many years after an incident that got them tied to each other.

 

The original plan had been for Q to either move on from the estate or to find himself an apprenticeship somewhere in town. Fortunately - or unfortunately, depending on how annoyed he was with his lord at the moment of remembering these options - enough, leaving was out of the question for Q had found out what he loved to do and that he was really good at it really early and he had the young lord Bond to thank for that.

 

The noble child with an unquenchable thirst for destruction had somehow managed to break a sword that he had deemed just a few hours prior as his favourite. He didn’t cry, but glared at the half he was left holding and then at Q – he had been ordered away from the kitchen by said young lord because he wanted to show him how good he was with a sword after he had heard him chuckle when he hit himself in the head with the practice wooden one – deeming him guilty for the sword's state and ordered him to either make the sword whole again or spend the next month glued to him – including sleeping next to his bed – to see how one was expected to act around such ‘fragile’ things.

 

Q had been terrified and close to tears when Bond’s parents had walked in the room closely followed by Kincade and six armed guards, sure that he would be dragged in front of the house and either hanged or lynched as an example for whatever horrible thing they’ll imagine he did.

 

“If you start crying now, mother will make you wear a dress,” the young lord teased, quickly lowering his head when his mother narrowed his eyes at him. “Welcome back,” he had added in a subdued and slightly trembling voice which was then followed by a very loud and accusing: “He did it!”

 

Lady Bond - which would end up being the only woman Q truly considered to be of noble birth - tilted her head back a little and tutted which had the effect of having everyone in the room straighten their shoulders and avoid her eyes. “James, darling,” she started slowly and Q caught the boy’s little flinch with the corner of his eyes, “what did I say about lying?”

 

“That it’s disgusting, degrading, and not something anyone should do, especially someone who is expected to become a lord,” James listed off without missing a beat.

 

The woman’s lips quirked in the corners for a moment before she returned to scowling. “And yet here you are, lying to your mother’s face.” James bit his lower lip and looked away, starting to mutter a convoluted excuse. “That aside, do you also remember the other thing we discussed about?” James looked mortified. “Good.” She then turned to Q and placed her hand - soft, warm, like that of a mother, Q imagined - on top of his head, eyes never leaving her son’s. “Play nice with your little friend, or he’ll leave and we won’t stop him.”

 

The words seemed to have the desired effect on James and Q evolved from being the scapegoat to being a magician as he was expected to fix the sword with his own hands and without the help of anyone - verbal or otherwise - in exactly twenty four hours or else became James' shadow for the next month.

 

For the first part of the day, Q tried to use all sorts of liquids that tended to stick things together and then got a good idea when he heard the Missus Kincade scold someone for putting something that melted to close to the fire and he quickly made his way to the smith and asked to be allowed to fix the sword himself.

 

Since the smith owned a brain, he refused to let Q work unattended and while he didn’t directly give him pointers, it just so happened that one of his apprentices suddenly was working on mending a sword himself. The apprentice did an excellent job on his end, but Q did a horrible one. Not bad for his first try ever, the swordsmith had said, even if the sword was now too thin towards the tip and thick in the middle where Q had tried to reconnect the two broken pieces, but still horrible.

 

“However, it is in my own humble opinion that, with the proper training, you can become something grand,” the man had added patting Q's singed hair, pushing a slightly damp clean cloth so he could start tending to his minor wounds. “Would you like to work for me?” Q nodded, smiling slightly. “Then I shall talk with Lady and Lord Bond about it.”

 

But though the two nobles were happy that Q had found his calling, his apprenticeship would never come to be as he foiled an attempt on James’ life and ended up getting named as the young lord’s personal servant until commanded otherwise. Thankfully, he was still allowed to hone his gift two days a week with everyone’s blessing, even though James grumbled about how unfair everything was and had Q sleep in his room during the nights of his training.

 

“You can stay behind this time,” the present lord Bond said, moving his left hand from the reins so he could pat the top of Q’s head. “I can see that you’re dead on your feet,” Q always knew that his lord was— “and since you are incapable of doing things when you are fully rested, I shudder to think what you’ll do when you’re like this and what that stuck up Blofeld will think of me and my house if you were to somehow manage to trip over your own horse.” –a complete and utter sod.

 

If there was one Lord that Q really hated, then that lord was Blofeld. Lord Bond annoyed him because Q knew that he could be a much better person if only he tried just a little and listened to the advice of others, but that pest that insisted on plaguing their estate every two years was a right tosser and Q wouldn’t trust him with cow dung even if his life depended on it.

 

Blofeld smiled at the right time, said the right words in the right voice tone, but he was obvious in his acting. There was just this spark of pure hatred towards everything that he considered to be beneath him – and if rumours were to be believed, the talking dung beetle thought himself superior to the Queen herself – that he simply couldn’t hide.

 

As far as Q could see at the very fancy balls that he attended alongside the grownup he was babysitting, no one truly liked him. Most, if not everyone, of similar birth to him that wasn’t directly in his group or directly associated with his house and banner sought to keep their time in his presence at short as it was humanly possible without being outright rude and honest in their distrust and disdain for him.

 

Then again, who wouldn’t act like that around someone who was involved in rumours about making people who didn’t dance to his tune have rather unpleasant accidents that either ended in their death or with a permanently broken body? Who wouldn’t suddenly get a crick in whatever part of their body if they had to dance with someone who might or might not have a delight in dismembering those who metaphorically stepped on his foot?

 

And then there was his Lord Bond, the only lord who didn’t try to dodge his visits and Q worried so because even though his favourite pastime was to complain about the nobleman, did not completely hold his tongue in moments in which other servants would grovel for his life, and poked the metaphorical sleeping bear, he cared about him because he liked to believe it was his duty, not because he actually saw him as a misguided friend who needed a good smack upside the head every other word.

 

“Ah, but if I do that, then I will distract him from when you do something silly,” Q shot back, daring to swat the lord’s hand away from his head. “I’ll go get my horse ready and fear not, I shan’t make anyone wait for me since I wouldn’t dream of taking Lady Volpe’s job away.”

 

He took two steps before Bond grabbed the back of his shirt to keep him in place. “Q, stay and rest,” the man said in a rare soft voice, a strange twinkle in his eyes. “I’m a grown man, Q, and a long time has passed since I needed a nursemaid, so go back to your room, forget about that list and your daily tasks, and rest.”

 

They stared at each other for a bit and Q was almost tempted to actually listen to him for once. “I might have dozed off a little while trying to dry the hay for your stallion, but I assure you that I can continue to keep you out of trouble without breaking a sweat.” Tempted, but not inclined.

 

“Stubborn mule,” his lord grumbled, releasing him and gently nudging his horse forwards once more. “If you are not at the front gate in ten minutes, we’re leaving without you.”

 

“We both know who’ll keep the hunting party waiting though, don’t we?” Q called out after him, sighing when a piece of bread struck him right in the middle of his forehead.

 

***

It was rare for Q to regret not staying where a fight was taking place, but since his Lord was still in the clearing where they had been ambushed by some thieves and he was stuck with a very distraught Lady Volpe – because she had caught her dress on a bush, not because they had almost been killed – he couldn’t help but to want to turn around.

 

“Why is it taking so long?” Lady Volpe hissed, digging her sharp nails in Q’s already wounded shoulder to keep him in place. “You haven’t gotten us lost, have you? You daft waste of—”

 

“We’re on foot and we are going around the normal trail, Lady Volpe,” Q cut her off, biting his lower lip to distract himself from the pain that was still shooting up his arm. “Of course, such a fine and smart lady as yourself is well aware of the fact that we’re taking the longer route because we wish to avoid any other ambushes that might be awaiting us on your way back,” he added as respectful as he could when he sensed that she was about to start having yet another hissy fit.

 

“Of course,” she mumbled, finally releasing his arm and wiping the blood away on his clothes. “In that case, do continue to lead us, you daft man.”

 

He was tempted to lead her off a cliff, but since he knew he would never hear the end of it from Lord Bond, he sighed and did as he was told. But he would be sure to recount this 'pleasant' walk in the woods the next time his lord would ask him why he had such a hard time following orders.

 

And it promised to be a very long and almost never-ending walk as, on horse and on the main road, it took them about two hours to reach the clearing, Lord Bond deciding to take this detour because, for whatever reason, he had wanted to amaze the unfit Lady with a lunch in the clearing his esteemed mother loved so much.

 

Who was this woman to warrant such treatment? She was reasonably pretty and, shockingly enough, smarter than the others that his Lord wanted to try in the sheets, but she most definitely wasn’t ‘Lady Bond’s clearing’ material. Did he lose whatever semblance of brain he had and decided to marry her, he had hissed at the man once he realized where they were going.

 

He continued to wonder loud enough for the other man to hear why he hadn’t simply wore his new kilt instead of pants if he wanted the lady to loosen her corset. Especially since it was a windy day and he knew without a doubt that the lady would like the glimpse of what she might get to play with, so again, why did he have to go for the romantic setting? Especially since it was obvious by the way she scrunched up her face when she heard his plans that she wasn’t capable of caring for gestures that didn’t include something expensive.

 

The answer that he got was a simple ‘trust me’ – and five minutes of teasing for peeking where he shouldn't be peeking whenever he washed – which made his blood pressure go through the sky because things never went right when those words were uttered by his lord and not half an hour after that, Q found it impossible not to shout an ‘I told you so, you git,’ just as he was getting wounded.

 

That annoying trivial information aside, going back to the estate on foot, with a still bleeding wound that was sure to get infected and with a woman that insisted on walking slowly because her precious shoes and precious dress out of which Q wouldn’t be able to afford so much as an inch of the golden thread that held it together – her words not one minute after they had managed to shake off their chasers, when he was on his keens and attempting to free her bloody dress from the thorns – it was probably going to take them at least half a day if not more.

 

“Too long,” he announced, stopping suddenly. “I can’t leave him—”

 

The woman clung to his wounded arm suddenly and pulled his head towards her chest, all the alarm bells in his head going off at once. “I really don’t think that you can really do anything to help them and you can’t mean to leave me here, in the middle of nowhere,” she said in a way that was meant to be sweet, but that reminded him of a snake.

 

He did not care that he was insulting when he shrugged her off and he also quickly pulled away from her, cradling his wounded arm. “Despite my state, current and in general, I help Lord Bond more than you can imagine.” He was shaking, from the cold and the anger, but his voice was steady like a rock and cold like the winter. “You may see me as scum because of my birth – no, especially because of my birth – but I and my Lord know my worth so I will overstep my boundaries and order you to keep following the berry bushes and you will find your way back to the estate.”

 

He wallowed in her shocked expression and held his head high. Even Lord Bond, in all his apparent current infatuation of Lady Volpe, would have clapped at his bravery right before gently tapping the back of his head and start to berate him in a dull voice.

 

But the woman’s shock easily gave way to disgust and insult and she spat at him, tightly clutching her dress. “He permits you more than he should,” she hissed. “Had you been my servant, I would have had that rotten attitude flogged out of you.”

 

“I pity your servants,” Q muttered, shaking his head. “Use that empty head of yours for once and do as you are told and don’t you dare doddle,” he added in a firmer voice and walked around her, only to find his path blocked by the tip of a sword pushing against his Adam’s Apple.

 

“If it weren’t for my original orders, I’d sit your throat and pull your tongue out through there for speaking in that way to my mistress,” a dirty man that smelled like he slept on a bed made out of dung and with about three missing teeth said, bowing his balding head lightly in Lady Volpe’s direction.

 

“Don’t tell me he got away,” she groaned, stomping her feet when the man reluctantly nodded. “But you had him surrounded! He sent us away because he was sure that he was going to die!”

 

“W-well, Lord Bond is a very good swordsman and they do say that Death is his mistress, so if you take all of that into consideration—”

 

Lady Volpe struck the man across his cheek and then turned to do the same to the shocked Q. “Why are all servants so bloody useless?”

 

The reality of things sunk like a ton of bricks in a deep lake and suddenly, all the strange little things that happened when they were around Blofeld clicked into place. “The bastard wishes to kill my Bond,” he whispered, not registering the woman’s snort that accompanied her amused expression. “Blofeld wants to move closer to the queen and take the throne and killing my lord is the only way,” he continued to assert, blood boiling with anger. “Over my dead body.”

 

The woman chuckled, drawing her finger up the bridge of Q’s nose and tapping his forehead while her thug moved behind him, his sword’s blade grazing his neck. “I am surprised that you do indeed have something inside here.” She tapped his forehead and then slapped him again, turning with her back to him. “Don’t worry that pretty little head of yours; I will do my best to convince Ernst to kill you in front of your lord and not the other way around.” She suddenly took a deep breath and moaned, her eyes rolling in the back of her head. “I’ll love watching James’ heart break in unison to the last breath leaving your body.”

 

He had seen James’ heart breaking. He had watched him crumble and he had been unable to do anything other than hold him, the young lord not talking to anyone for an entire month, eating only because Q was shoving food down his throat. “You won’t hurt my lord,” he grunted, tapping the side of his belt to make a spike pop out in the back, pushing himself against his captor while grabbing the sword by its edge and pointing it at the she-dog.

 

“If you hurt a single hair on my head—”

 

Q rolled his eyes and smacked her in the face with the hilt, crouching down next to her and starting to whisper. “How about you try to hang me for a broken face instead of a split end?”

 

He didn’t get to enjoy his triumph for too long because three people charged full force at him, one right into his sword. Q quickly took the dying man’s sword to defend himself and managed to stab a second man through the neck, ending up rolling around in the dirt with the third one, tumbling down a little hill and winning only because the man stopped with his head in a rock.

 

Not wishing to further test or waste what little was left of his luck with the many other men that he heard screaming for his bloody head on a platter, Q quickly lost himself between the bushes, using to his advantage the fact that he knew the forest like the back of his hand. The only real impediment he had was that he had no idea where his lord was.

 

Logically, the man would avoid going back by the main road as he was smart enough to know that there were probably more supposed thieves waiting for him. Then again, he could also take that knowledge as a challenge since he was dumb enough for that – again, his lord was a giant contradiction in his mind.

 

Still, for his sanity, he was going to believe that James chose self-preservation over the high he got from dangerous fights and that he had taken the same road that he had used as an escape route. The knowledge didn’t really help his panicked state since he was bound to bump into the ones looking for him and if he was wounded bad enough…

 

He shook his head. That was not the kind of thought he needed to focus on.

 

The pursuers were noisy enough for Lord Bond to hear them long before they saw him, so he would duck out of their way. Unless they wore his house colours, in which case he would probably run towards them, shouting orders and questions and probably ending up with an arrow in the neck.

 

His knees buckled and he fell to the ground at that image firmly planted in his mind. He felt like he was breathing in fire and his wounded arm had gone completely numb, hearing only the sound of his beating heart. Perhaps that was why he didn’t hear his name being called and why, when he felt something grab the back of his shirt, he reacted by elbowing his would-be attacker and then swung his sword around, ending up with its blade stuck in a tree trunk and a hand covered in armour pushed in his throat.

 

“It’s me,” someone yelled in his ear, an arm sneaking around his middle which pulled him against an armoured chest in an attempt to keep him from struggling. “Q, it’s me!” The voice insisted but he only calmed down when he was turned around and locked eyes with his lord’s blue ones.

 

“You’re alive,” He stuttered and threw his arms around his neck, pulling him in a tight hug until he remembered that this wasn’t done. He also remembered that he had been put in charge of a certain treacherous woman. “Lord Bond, Lady Volpe is—”

 

“I know, I know,” the man interrupted him, pushing him back and zeroing in on his wounded arm. “Remind me to rip the limbs of whoever did this to you when we get them,” he muttered and made him sit down on a rock, starting to rip a piece of his cape.

 

“No need to stick me with stitching that obnoxious thing for a scratch,” Q weakly protested, a sudden wave of dizziness making him rest his forehead against the man’s chest. “You’re wearing the chainmail and the armour I made for you.”

 

The man might have sneezed or snorted, Q wasn’t so sure, but he did run his hand gently through his hair before cupping the back of his neck. “I secretly always do, but just tease you that I don’t because I love proving your point about how horrible of a lord I am.”

 

Okay so Q was wrong about his lord not being perfect. But he wasn’t perfect in the way the other people saw him so their perfect was wrong compared to his perfect and how much blood did he lose to be thinking of that at such a time? Or maybe he landed in some of those special kind of mushroom that wizards were rumoured to use in their spells? He never really tried those because he thought magic was stupid and just a way to make money off of people who didn’t understand how things worked, but he liked mushrooms in general.

 

“Q!” James shouted in his face, giving him a good shake. “Q, I need you to focus now and then space out and pass out without my permission when the physician is next to us back at the castle, so can you do that?”

 

Q frowned at him and then slapped himself, pinching his cheeks despite James’ attempts to stop him. “I’m not losing my mind; I’m just forcing myself to do as you commanded,” he explained and slapped himself one more time, finally starting to notice the wounds his lord had.

 

His face had a few cuts, his nose was in an awkward position, his eyes were starting to swell, there was a rather worrisome red line right across his neck, another thin line right under his right ear, and some blood was trickling down his arm. No, not trickling, now that he squinted better; it was flowing.

 

“No,” James said quickly, covering Q’s mouth. “We need to tend to your wound first and then find a safe spot to stay in until Kincade realizes that something is definitely wrong and sends the troops for us.”

 

Q thought that licking the palm of his hand would make him pull away, but James did not budge a single inch and he was stuck with the horrible taste. Having no other option but to let his lord continue to ruin his cape until he was satisfied that Q would not bleeding to death – never mind that he no longer felt his arm – and only then did he switched their roles.

 

It was a testament to how weak James was if Q had virtually no problem forcing him under himself, pulling his armour off and using what was left of the cape and a bit of his shirt that was still clean to patch up the huge, gaping hole that the Lord had in his chest. He was sure that if he squinted a bit, he’d see his heart!

 

“Ah, so you do think I own one,” the man teased, tapping Q’s nose. “You stopped as much of the bleeding as you could, Q, and we left a puddle of blood large enough to be confused with an actual lake so we should really go, okay?”

 

They slowly made their way to the caves that were deep inside the forest because even though Blofeld knew of them, he did not know the shortcut to them or how to navigate inside of them. They, on the other hand, as the lord of the estate that actually grew up on the estate and the servant that grew up alongside said lord, had no trouble with them. Well, almost no trouble.

 

His lord was dying. He was pale, he was cold, he was sweating, shaking, and he had also started to space out quite a lot. He wasn’t doing all that good either, his mind drifting into strange places every now and then but James… James started to see his mother and that wasn’t good news at all.

 

But Q knew of a trick, something obscure that the old kooky physician used in times of desperation, a trick which he had been forced to learn because one never knew how things would turn out when Lord Bond was involved. “I don’t think you’ll make it,” Q muttered, trying to get him to drink a bit of water.

 

“I know what you’re thinking and the answer is no,” his lord said weakly, grabbing Q’s hand to make sure he would stay put. “You can’t wander out to do that, not now. They’ll find you.”

 

“They won’t,” he promised and squeezed the man’s hand reassuringly. “Not now, at least. But they’ll do that before Kincade does and when they do, they’ll kill you. But if you’re dead already—”

 

“Then stay here with me until I die and then they’ll leave you alone,” James shouted, interrupting him. “Hold my hand until I die and for once, do something I ask you to do without forcing me to order you!”

 

Q pulled his hand free and slapped him. “Never,” he breathed out. “Now you stay here and stay alive until I temporarily kill you.” It was an order and James looked like he was going to do his best to follow it.

 

The trick in question was a potion that slowed one’s body functions down so much that it made the person who drank it appear to be dead.

 

Not many physicians knew how to make it and the new generation thought this potion to be complete bullshit, but Q had seen it working. Q had administered it to the soldiers that were too close to death to last without it, so he knew that it did wonders. It wasn’t an easy thing to make because all the ingredients had to be just right in order for it to make the person appear dead and not kill them altogether for real, but after fifteen years of making it over and over again – with thankfully no death toll as the ‘potion’ turned a very distinctive green colour that glowed in the dark and only when it was perfect did it not smell like a rotting body – he had become an expert. And he was also in sort of luck because he could find all the ingredients he needed in the cave except for a god awful smelling flower that just happened to be the key ingredient to everything.

 

But that was fine. In fact, everything was fine, because the place where they grew was far from any roads anyone might take in order to reach them and if he moved fast enough, he could be back in half an hour tops. His lord could last that long, right? He wouldn’t go and pull something as stupid as dying despite him specifically asking him not to do that, would he?

 

The track record for that wasn’t great. The first thing Q had ever asked him as his servant had been to be allowed to quit and work with the swordsmith – denied, of course. The second thing he had asked him had been not to shake a specific tree and James instantly grabbed that tree and shook it like his life depended on it. That strike of genius ended in the young lord spending the following week looking like a balloon, his esteemed mother constantly reminding him that he had been very lucky not to die after so many bees stung him.

 

Another time in which he had did the exact opposite of what he had been told was when he almost drowned because if Q told him that the water current was much too strong in the place he wanted to cross in order to get some apples – apples which were his in the first place and which had been delivered to his house not two hours later- then that meant that Q had actually challenged him to prove him wrong.

 

Q had ended up giving him mouth to mouth and his first kiss, despite being eighteen, by necessity – well, Kincade told him that it didn’t count as that because there was no tongue action and lips don’t touch like that in a kiss, but Q still counted it as a kiss. After James had finished coughing out the very last drop of water he had in his lungs, he had told Q that he had better not mention this to anyone - especially to his parents - and then gave him an awkward hug as thanks for saving him.

 

His lord had denied him so many other things, but these three incidents stood out the most in his mind and when he finally walked back in the cave sporting new scrapes and he saw James with his eyes closed and still, he let out something between a cry and a scream, throwing himself against him.

 

“Why couldn’t you do what I asked you to do?” He demanded, hiccuping, hands fisted in the blanket made out of clothes. “Didn’t you learn that doing what I tell you is a good thing?”

 

“I’m doing my best not to be dead yet,” James croaked, bring his arm around Q. “But it warms my heart to see how you’ll react when you do finally get rid of me. I would also like to add that hitting me now won’t be such a good idea,” he added quickly when he saw how hard Q was glaring at him.

 

“Remind me to slap you when you feel better then,” Q breathed out, wishing that they’d have a wineskin with them even though he detested drinking.

 

“Only if you remind me to get you a new brush so you can scrub the floors of my room until I see my reflection in it,” James joked, squeezing Q’s hand one more time before letting him go.

 

It took Q about ten minutes to get the fire going again, cursing the dampness of the place while James tried to help him calm down by rambling about their different adventures together – the time they snuck out when he was twelve because he really wanted to see how the villagers partied in a pub and Q got in trouble - or the time where he snuck out when he was 19 because there was a pretty new woman in the pub and James thought he was in love with her - and Q almost got castrated by the father - and so on and so forth, all the stories pretty much ending in ‘and then you almost got punished for what I did’.

 

The actual brewing took less – and this was a rare instance in which he was happy that James never cleaned up after himself because they still had a silver bowl left behind from the last time they had camped in the caves – and while it looked and smelled the way it was supposed to, James still had to force Q to use his logic not to taste it. “Think,” the wounded man hissed at him as he struggled to get up so he could smack the bowl away, “of the many times before this one in which it worked.”

 

“But what if this time—”

 

“This time is no different,” he interrupted Q, ending up grabbing him by the collar and tugging him forwards. “You did it right, I am sure, and it will do us no good if you ‘die’ alongside me, okay?”

 

Q nodded and easily shrugged James’ hold off. “Haunt me if I screw up, okay?” He asked and held the ladle to the man’s mouth, frowning when it was pushed away. “You have to drink it in order for this to work and I’ve been told that it has a sweet taste despite its ingredients.”

 

“I’ve been thinking—” Oh, good God, no. Nothing good ever came out of his Lord trying to think. “Q, are you listening to me?”

 

“Not really, no,” Q said honestly. “I have long since learned that tuning out whatever you say they keywords that are a hint you're about to give me the reason for my future headache – the fact that you’ve been thinking,” he cleared up when he saw the extra look of confusion the man was giving him, “is the best way to go.”

 

“I am being serious, you stubborn mule,” James said exasperatedly, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t see why they won’t simply stab me for good measure and then behead you.”

 

Of course he didn’t, but Q did. Q always thought and planned ahead of things and he knew that Blofeld would, of course, blame the idiot souls who agreed to ambush them if both of them got killed. But, if they found James already dead supposedly because of an already existing stab wound and him alive, he was sure to try to put the blame on him and if he won’t be the one insisting on him being executed, then it would be Lady Volpe who would demand his life as retribution.

 

“Just drink the bloody thing,” Q finally said, holding the ladle to James' chapped lips again which his lord wasted no time in spilling. “Please, I promise that it will be the sweetest thing you’ll ever taste.”

 

James chuckled, shaking his head. “I’m afraid that I already tasted the sweetest thing in my life.” He tapped Q’s lips, giving him a lopsided grin. “And I didn’t find it on the bottom of a glass.”

 

Heart beating wildly and redder than a beet, Q turned with his back to his lord touching his lips. “You mistake me for one of your blushing admirers, my lord.”

 

“The tips of your ears which I can clearly see from where I am standing even in this light and your voice tone says otherwise, Q.” Already sitting upright thanks to Q’s help, James struggled to grab his shoulder and turn him to face him. “Let me taste it again and then run away to safety and freedom with my blessings.”

 

Out of his own free will, Q turned and brought their lips together, first gently cupping James’ chin and then digging his nails in it to force him to open his mouth. He didn’t inflict pain to get an actual kiss as he knew the man would willingly give him one, so sure that he was going to die for real, but because he wanted to make him swallow the potion which he had ‘hidden’ in his own mouth.

 

A few drops made a person dizzy and Q wasn’t quite sure if his mind was spinning because of that or the supposed kiss. The half of mouth James swallowed while looking like God himself had betrayed him could immobilize a man of his size and the rest of the potion that Q poured between those puffy lips was going to do the job.

 

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, shaking. “I am so, so sorry,” he whimpered, carefully laying James back down. “You can lock me up in a dungeon or send me to the colonies all you want after we get out of this alive.” He took a deep breath and kissed the tips of his own fingers which he then pressed against James’ lips. “Trust in me despite this betrayal.”

 

He had planned on holding James’ hand until he succumbed to the potion, but Blofeld ruined that plan by finally reaching the caves. Q quickly poured what was left of the potion behind some rocks and hid the cauldron, running outside just as Blofeld was dismounting, only to quickly lose his weapon thanks to a well-placed kick between his ribs by one of the soldiers.

 

“Your loyalty for that man is very annoying,” Blofeld growled, grabbing his chin and forcing him to look him in the eyes while his soldiers made Q kneel and kept him in place. “Although I suspect it’s much more than simple servant’s love, isn’t it? You feel what a woman is supposed to feel.” He gently caressed the right side of his face, tutting before slapping him and whipping his hand on his cape. “Search the caves.”

 

“No,” Q shouted, attempting to get up and getting a kick in his backbone for his troubles alongside a growled order to remember his position. “I won’t, I won’t and you will leave my lord alone, you useless sack of—”

 

This time, it was Blofeld who kicked him, the heavy boot breaking his nose and splitting his lip. “I guess I am going to have to teach you the proper manners your lord didn’t.” He signaled his men to turn him around, his shirt being ripped from his back. “I was also informed that you dared strike Lady Volpe.”

 

“Our understanding of a Lady is quite dif—ARGH!”

 

One didn’t have to be a learned man to figure out why his shirt had been ripped from his back, but Q was still shocked over just how painful that first whip lash truly was – he was also surprised that the man carried around a whip, his heart going out to the servants Blofeld had brought with him, understanding why they always looked fearful and close to tears whenever they were told off.

 

It felt like someone had managed to tame both fire and ice and then used the weapons forged out of them on him. The pain was also so sharp and powerful that he went deaf and blind, realizing that the strange sound that came from somewhere behind a wall of redness was his own screams only after an eternity in pain.

 

“If I were your definition of a kind lord, I would stop after this,” the bastard whispered in his ear, placing a disgustingly sweet kiss on it.

 

Q started to laugh without meaning to, jerking his head in Blofeld’s direction so he could glare at him. “You shouldn’t use words that you don’t understand,” he wheezed out, spitting at his shoes. “So do shut up already.” 

 

Probably for the first time in his life, Blofeld did as he was told, focusing his anger in his lashes. Q didn’t know how many times he had been struck, if he still had meat attached to his back, or if James had seen the first four times he had been struck and attempted to shout in anger and attack the bastard who was hurting him, but he knew that by the time the supposed lord remembered what he was searching for, the potion had taken effect and it made the pain more than worth it.

 

“A pity he’s dead; I would have hoped to be able to see him giving his last breath,” Blofeld muttered, slapping Q’s face for no reason other than the fact that he could. “Tie the esteemed Lord Bond’s killer up and do try not to trample him with your horses; it would be kind of disappointing if my scapegoat died before I got to use him.”

 

***

James returned to life far too slow for his liking. And he ended up losing even more time by being dizzy and by vomiting, the bloody physician actually trying to convince him to play dead until he got most of his strength and colour back. “It shouldn’t take longer than two hours,” the ridiculous man insisted on carrying on with his terrible joke.

 

He glared at the man for a moment and easily pushed him away, ignoring the way the world suddenly titled when he got up. “The only way I am staying in here is if Q brings me a bowl of hot water so he could wash me.”

 

The physician sighed and tried to push him back down. “My lord, Kincade has managed to sneak out and he is probably on his way with more of your soldiers from the garrison just outside the town, so it would be for the best if you lie back down and let them handle everything.”

 

James glared at him for a moment and tried to get up again, the man almost getting on top of him to keep him still. “That’s not Q bringing me the bowl I asked for.”

 

“We both know that he can’t do that, my—”

 

“And that is precisely why I am not wasting a single more moment in here.” The physician was one of the few people who were still alive that knew of his secret – he had thought he was sick when he first got the symptoms and went to him, the man chuckling and ruffling his hair as he explained what was really happening – and it irked him that he still had the galls to tell him to leave Q alone in whatever state that soon to be dead bastard had left him in. “How many guards are posted outside this door?” He whispered, happy that the world tilted less this time. Surely by the time he made his way to Q, he’d be fully healed.

 

“Two, my lord, but they are loyal to you. All of your loyal guards have been moved as far away from where Q currently is for fear that they might either try to free or kill him before…” He trailed off and grabbed James hand, pushing a sword in it. “My lord, despite my earlier assessment of the guards, I will suggest you take the hidden passageways as they might see you as a wraith and exit in the courtyard.”

 

He nodded his thanks and disappeared behind the bookcase. His parents never really liked him playing in these corridors, afraid that they’d lose him forever. They had forbade him to go in there after they had all the estate’s servants and soldiers look for him for an entire day, but even though he had been scolded for two hours straight when he wanted nothing more than to sleep, he still considered that to be the best day because he had Q’s undivided attention.

 

The younger boy had been terrified at first and had glued himself to him. For the first time, it felt like he truly needed him and even though he truly had been a jerk for making him enter the dark, moist, and tight place, Q ended up relaxing enough to just keep his hand fisted in his tunic while enjoying the whole thing. In fact, Q ended up making a map, finding all sort of shortcuts and rooms that were inaccessible otherwise and he always eagerly dragged him to show his new discoveries after James was done with his morning routine.

 

Their favourite new room was an inner garden that had been forgotten and left to grow in peace. They didn’t recognize a single plant and while James had all but jumped in the middle of a thorny bush, Q had quickly wrapped his arms tightly around him and pulled him back, ranting about the many things he had read in a book that some plants could do and insisting that the physician should really be brought in here to do a survey before they could play.

 

“Well, aren’t you using big words,” he had grumbled, still pretending that he was trying to go towards the bush just to get Q to hug him tighter. “And who taught you to read? You didn’t know how to do that the first time I met you, so who are you spending time with, when are you doing that, and why didn’t you come to me?” He demanded, pushing him back a little to show him just offended he was, too young to know how to reign in his jealousy.

 

Q looked so guilty that James wanted to bang his head against the nearest wall and later that day, he had asked his mother how he could make someone understand that he doesn’t want them to stay with anyone else but him without outright ordering them – he got a good tugging of the ear and a three hour lecture on why he shouldn’t think like that.

 

“I’m not royalty or nobility, so I’m not allowed to learn how to read,” Q admitted slowly, actually shaking. “Please don’t punish me,” he said quickly, flinching when James ran a hand through his hair.

 

Snorting, James grabbed his hand and tugged him back inside the tunnels. “I’ll have the best servant if you know how to read and I am pretty sure that I can get you to do that boring extra work they dump on me at the end of the day.”

 

He thought it was going to take at least five fits and three turned bowls of soup plus a threat to never eat again to get his parents to agree with the whole thing, but they were more than happy to let Q learn provided James still did his own work alone – and yes, they’ll know, his mother had said.

 

“You also have your own special way of half-assing you work and plus, he’ll be stuck on learning how to make letters,” his father had explained, motioning Q closer. “I’ll send someone to buy you some parchment and ink. And don’t worry about having to pay for anything, as this is the first time James here looked even mildly interested in his studies. And tell us when you run out of them so we can send for more, understand?” Q’s head jerked in a motion that might have been a nod and James' father sighed and turned to address his son. “You tell me when that happens.”

 

Q had been very thankful to him back then, going so far as to give him a hug and promised to do his best to help him when he could. And most of the tutors had liked him and had been happy to include him in their lessons, being very patient and understanding with him. The one teacher who had dared to hit Q for misspelling a very complicated word lost his job on the sport and when Q voiced his wish to maybe stop doing this for fear that he would anger everyone else, James had promised to never let anyone hurt him again.

 

And now he was looking at the clear evidence at how horrible he was at keeping his word, Q looking like a ragged doll as he struggled to stay on top of the barrel, a noose around his neck, arms held in heavy chains, his face puffy and covered in bruises and blood, his back one giant open wound. No guards around as far as James could see which would have normally been worrisome, but he was too busy trying to think of a way to instantly fix Q to care about that.

 

“I’ll get you down from there right away, Q,” he whispered, surprising the poor man so much that he would have ended up hanging himself if James hadn’t been there to hold him by the legs and keep the barrel in place. “Don’t struggle, don’t struggle,” he hissed.

 

“What the bloody hell are you doing here?” Q asked, tears spilling down his cheeks from the pain of moving his mouth. “Go back to the physician and stay there until Kincade comes back with—”

 

“Cuckoo,” Blofeld called out, James hating how Q’s eyes filled with raw fear at hearing the man’s voice. “I knew that dear James wouldn’t insult me by dying somewhere out of my sight.”

 

There were soldiers around them instantly, but James didn’t care. He was much too busy trying to figure if he had enough control over his balance to climb the unsteady barrel, cut the noose from around Q’s neck and get him down before he ended up dead – his balance was more off than he thought it was, but he had ended up with the younger man crying from pain on top of him.

 

“I know it hurts now, Q, but everything will get better,” James whispered reassuringly in his ear, wasting no time punching in the face the soldier who dragged Q off of him by the hair.

 

He made to start fighting everyone, but froze in his tracks when two of them pushed the sides of their swords to Q’s neck. “You know, it’s quite rude to ignore someone when they talk,” Blofeld chided him, actually leaning down to tug him by the ears. “I really thought that you were different, Lord Bond. You never spaced out when I was talking to you.”

 

James shrugged and pointed his sword at him, all the soldiers edging closer to him, a word away from attacking him. “I’m a great pretender. Now why don’t you leave Q out of this and fight me like the Lord you pretend to be?”

 

Despite what Q – and probably others, but they didn’t matter – thought of him, he wasn’t stupid enough to think himself invincible or immortal. But every time his men saw him ride into battle despite being at Death’s doorstep, it gave them enough confidence to continue to fight what seemed to be a losing battle until backup arrived and while in this case he was facing a madman and his army alone, he hoped that he would be able to hold out long enough for Kincade to return to save Q.

 

“Now if I was that Lord, we wouldn’t be here, would we?” Blofeld teased, brandishing his sword. “But even I wouldn’t turn down a dying man’s wish and I am sure that Lady Volpe would back me up when I tell the queen that I was forced to fight you for her honor, right?”

 

The witch appeared in an archway, slinking towards him. “Well, I wouldn’t be able to present myself in society again if you didn’t fight him after you caught him pushing me against a wall and attempting to kiss me despite my insistence to be left alone.”

 

“Something tells me that if I truly touched your lips with mine, I would lose my soul,” James muttered, pushing her away from his side so he could cross swords with Blofeld. “Now if we are done with the whole theatrics?”

 

Blofeld chuckled and was quick to return James’ blow, signalling his men to maintain their position. “I don’t need anyone’s help to rid myself of him,” he announced proudly although he also looked quite pleased with Lady Volpe for pulling Q up by his hair and piercing the skin over his Adam’s Apple with her small knife, silently telling James that there was no way for him to truly win.

 

“Threatening a defenseless man like that?” James growled, hitting Blofeld's sword with so much force that they both almost lost their weapons.

 

Jumping back, Blofeld put both hands around the hilt and leaned forward a bit. “I just want to be sure that we all play fair.” He rushed at James, stopping just short of him in order to kick up some dirt, proving that he still insisted on using words he did not know what meant.

 

Thankfully, James had expected that and had leaned back and to the side enough to avoid getting anything more than a few specks of dirt in his eyes, also charging Blofeld. He didn’t land a hit and ended up with a knee in his stomach, losing focus and awareness long enough for the man to hit him over the back of his head with the hilt, laughing as he slowly started to circle him.

 

“Royalty kneeling before me is just how things are supposed to be,” Blofeld purled, twirling his sword twice before getting back in a fighting stance. “Get back up; if I behead you, it will look too much like an execution.”

 

Not needing to be told twice, James did just that, but did not charge him again. He knew that he was too slow to parry a well-placed strike so it would be for the best if the other man came at him. And came at him he did, screaming like an animal and giving him enough time to step to the side and kick him in the ass, making him fall on his knees, but he was stopped from running him through with his sword by the loyal dogs forming a wall between them.

 

“Nobody touch him!” Blofeld roared, stabbing one of the soldiers in the back. “He’s mine, do you hear me? Mine!”

 

Grinning, James motioned him over and they crossed swords again, but he was quickly losing his upper hand. He was growing tired and his sword was becoming heavier with each swung he took, the world becoming less focused. And Blofeld did not relent with his attacks, not that James expected him to. He just kept on striking over and over again, forcing him to move his sword up to keep from getting his arms chopped off.

 

With a kick in stomach, James was brought to his keens once again and Blofeld reigned over him, smirking as he slowly started to push the sword in his chest. “Turn to look at your servant,” he ordered, twisting the tip of his sword when James continued to look at him. “Look at him or I will have the cooks peel his skin off while he’s still alive!”

 

James turned and noticed that Q had a fresh rivulet dropping down his neck and that Lady Volpe’s perfect hair was disheveled and an eye was slowly changing colour and he felt proud. “Going down swinging, are we?” He croaked, heart hurting.

 

“Never say that I didn’t learn anything from you,” Q whispered, attempting to smile. “My wounds are allergic to her very sharp nails though and she fights dirty so—”

 

The woman backhanded him. “His voice is giving me a headache, Ernst, so let me kill him or have someone cut out his tongue,” she whined, managing to look childishly when she stomped her feet instead of deranged.

 

Dropping his sword, Blofeld wrapped himself around the woman, nuzzling her neck. “In a minute, darling.” He placed a kiss on her shoulder, squeezing her in his arms. “Just let me play with darling James for a bit longer and then you can do whatever you want to Q.”

 

With what little strength he had left, James grabbed the sword and killed one of the solders that was closest to him, wounding another before he was brought down to his knees yet again. He didn’t break eye contact with Q a single time, not even when Blofeld moved back to him and cupped his chin, hissing about how his time was up. “No matter how much royal blood you spill, you’ll still be a snake,” he whispered, laughing when he was backhanded. “Q, it was a pleasure to have my armour cleaned by you.”

 

“That wasn’t the most pleasant thing I did for you, but it was still fun running around after you…” Q trailed off, coughing and Blofeld moved his sword back, searching for the right angle to kill him.

 

But instead of more pain, James felt nothing. An arrow had embedded itself in Blofeld’s arm, the supposed man needing a moment until it registered that he was dying and Lady Volpe dropped lifelessly to the ground before he screamed in pain, an arrow stuck in in the middle of her forehead. A few more soldiers dropped to the ground before the gates were pulled open and Kincade rode in, a small army of his own following.

 

Q crawled to James and sighed in relief before his eyes rolled in the back of his head and he passed out.

 

“Get me a physician,” James ordered, checking for Q’s pulse before simply pulling him over himself. “It will be okay,” he whispered the promise in his ear, caressing the back of his head. “They’ll patch you up and you’ll be okay.”

 

He let Kincade deal with everything, much more interested in the way Q was carried back inside, not letting anyone tend to him until he was assured that his precious servant was in good hands. Darkness happened after that and the next time he opened his eyes, he stared for half an hour at the ceiling to his room, trying to piece together his memory, ignoring the way his whole body hurt when he sat up.

 

“Q!” He shouted all of a sudden, grabbing the physician’s collar when he barged into his room. “Where is Q? Bring me Q!” He ordered, not understanding why he had three of his best soldiers holding him down.

 

“He’s fine; he’s sleeping,” Kincade said, gasping for air. “He’s in his room, on his stomach, resting and recovering, which is what you should be doing right now,” the old man scolded him, shooing the soldiers away.

 

But James still refused to let the physician tend to him or Kincade to leave his sight. “Did he wake up yet? Did he say anything? Did he ask about me?” He bombarded them with questions, not liking the way they were looking at him. “Don’t you dare tell me that he’s dead and don’t you dare lie to me.”

 

To get him to shut up more than anything, the physician pushed a cup of water to his lips – although by the better taste that he felt, there was something more than water in there and since the world slowly started to tilt and lose focus again, he guessed that it was a plant that was meant to calm him down and help him against his will to go back to sleep. “It’s best that he continues to sleep until his back at least scabs up,” the doctor carefully explained, his voice echoing. “Which is the same thing that you should be doing.”

 

I don’t really want to do that because the last time it happened, I found Q almost hanged, he wanted to say, but his lips and throat would not collaborate with his thoughts and he was back inside the darkness, his mother and father patting his back and promising him that everything was going to be okay just like they did on the day they died.

 

He drifted in and out of reality for a long time and when his eyes finally stayed open and his thoughts made sense, the complete darkness in the room being kept at bay by a lone candle by his nightstand and he was definitely wearing something new. He suppressed his first instinct to call out for Q and then his second one to call out to anyone that could tell him how Q was doing and slowly sat up right and swung his legs over the side of the bed, biting back a groan at how dizzy he had suddenly became.

 

To avoid running into anyone that might easily pick him up and put him back into bed, he dug around for Q’s corridor map and, after getting lost a few times – young Q was a horrible artist – and hearing the commotion his absence caused, he finally got out right next to the servant quarters.

 

He took a deep breath and arranged his tunic and hair before pushing the door to Q’s room open, walking right into a table filled with little models of God knows what Q was working on and blueprints for future projects, the loud cuss that slipped out of his mouth doing nothing to rouse the sleeping man.

 

“Your room is too small,” James declared, sitting on the side of the bed because there was no chair anywhere around and carefully taking Q's pale, cold hand in his. “And it’s too dark; no wonder you remind me of a half-blind bat if you stay up all night, working on your miracle gadgets instead of sleeping like you are supposed to do.” Stupidly enough, when he didn’t get a snappy comeback he got sad and upset, resting his chin against Q's forehead. “You really love ignoring me when I do something that annoys you, don’t you? Can you stop this?”

 

“My lord,” Kincade’s tired voice came from behind, “he’s not doing it on purpose; he really can’t answer.” The man squeezed his shoulder and pulled him on his feet. “But if he does wake up now, he would be most cross with you and he would turn his back to you.”

 

“Put him in a bigger room that’s closer to mine and I’ll go back to bed,” James bargained although he was already being guided towards the door – and also because he was the lord, he realized as he was being placed back in his bed, but he really couldn’t be blamed for allowing that to slip his mind in the state he currently was.

 

“As you wish.”

 

James had them change Q’s room about three more times before he finally ordered for him to be brought in his room. He had tried to get them to put them in his own bed, but everyone refused and Kincade was placed in the awkward position of explaining why that wouldn’t be the best idea, the fact that he was still in pain, and that James tended to roll around in his sleep when he wasn’t being an octopus surprisingly not being the first things brought up.

 

He understood, of course, and agreed to have Q sit in the room across from his, provided the bed was an actual one and had a real mattress. “Why was he sleeping on that thing made out of straws?” He asked after Q had been settled in the bed, frowning as he ran his hand through his hair.

 

Kincade and the physician shared a look, before Kincade let out a sigh and started to explain. “My lord, he’s a servant.”

 

“My servant,” James muttered, glaring at Q’s bandaged back.

 

“Servants, all kinds of servants,” Kincade really felt the need to point that fact out and if the way James was looking at him was any indication, it was a good thing that he was explaining this as if he would a snobby child, “don’t really sleep in beds and those who do, don’t have mattresses filled with wool.”

 

It finally dawned on James why Q always said that he didn’t know how real life worked and on that very day, he ordered that every servant under his roof would have beds with actual mattresses, although he had agreed to have the lowest of the low sleep on ones filled with straws and the head on that chain to sleep on moss, with the exception of Q who would have a mattress just like his own.

 

A bit later that very week, James almost had a heart attack when the women who had been charged with carefully washing Q's wounds and with trying to get him to swallow the disgusting mashed food that they made especially for him – he was on ‘water duty’ but he most definitely wasn’t allowed to use his lips even if Q had made him drink like that – came running into the dining hall to tell him that Q was missing.

 

“How can he be missing?” James snapped at them, taking a deep breath in an attempt to calm himself down when he saw them flinch and pull back, glancing at the door like they were calculating if they were fast enough to get out of there before he did something violent. “Have all the servants and soldiers look for him,” he instructed in a soft voice, pinching the bridge of his nose.

 

Two hours later, the whole estate was turned over and Q was still missing, so clearly Q was wandering somewhere outside while James was close to a breakdown because he had to tighten up security even more if a wounded, confused man, high on all sorts of plants to lessen the pain, could easily walk out.

 

“We’ll have the soldiers search the grounds for him, my lord,” Kincade’s wife said softly, turning the fuming James towards the stairs, “and you go lie back down in your bed.” She shushed him when he attempted to fight back, pretty much dragging him up the stairs. “You know what the physician said, my lord, and you know how upset Q gets when you do the exact opposite of what you are told by someone who keeps people healthy for a living.”

 

“Yes, but this time—”

 

“Is no different from all the other times,” she interrupted him, patting the back his neck. “Go rest and let us take care of everything.” It was more of an order than a suggestion, but she was the only woman besides his mother who could get him to do something without too much struggle. “I promise to come wake you up the second we find him. I’ll even personally throw a bucket of water over you, if needed.”

 

He slowly trotted up the stairs to his room, unable to resist taking a peek in Q's new one just to be sure that a miracle hadn't happened and he would be found in there. “Empty,” he hissed more than whispered and slammed it shut, the need to punch something or fight someone very high.

 

But that need was replaced by relief when he entered his room and spotted the beloved mop of brown hair on the other side of the bed - this joy also only lasted for a moment because he realized that Q was on his knees, scrubbing his floor, the bandages on his back coming loose.

 

“Q, what are you doing there?” He asked softly, carefully edging towards him just in case he had the mentality of a bunny and would bolt away at the first sign of something that he might perceive as danger.

 

Q shrugged, face contouring in pain. “I don't know,” he admitted, James grabbing the dirty rag before he could run it over his face, sitting down next to him and only then seeing how foggy his eyes looked. “I think I was supposed to clean today, but I am not sure.”

 

Tugging him to his feet and then guiding him to his bed, James needed an extra minute or so until he got Q to understand that he was supposed to lie down on his stomach. “You're actually supposed to sleep.”

 

A deep frown, lower lip sucked on. “Am I really? And in here?” James thought about it for a moment before nodding, but the frown remained on Q's face. “You just want my lord to scold me again.”

 

To say that the Q’s words worried him was an understatement and he really did not know how to deal with this. Did his mother feel like this whenever he did something stupid, dangerous, or go hurt? He really needed to apologize to her the next time he visited her grave, that was for sure, but until then, what was he to do with Q? Was this normal? Had he been hit in the head repeatedly? Was he poisoned? If he called the physician, could the man make Q be Q again?

 

He shook his head; he should properly assess the situation before jumping to conclusions. “Q,” he started softly, cupping his chin and gently turning his head in his direction, “who am I?”

 

Q looked like he was in deep thought for a long while, his eyes becoming clearer by the moment, faint shade of pink spreading on his face. “My lord, I don’t know how I ended—”

 

Smiling, James pushed his finger against the chapped lips, barely holding back from silencing him with a kiss. “Do you remember what happened before…” He trailed off, burrowing his eyebrows and Q slowly nodded, visibly checking him out for any visible wounds. “I got nothing more than a future new scar on my chest.” But he ended up with multiple ones that had no place on his back.

 

“The ladies will go nuts for you even more, my lord,” Q muttered, playing with the edge of the sheets.

 

If it wouldn’t have hurt Q, he would have pulled him in his arms. But as that wasn’t the case, James instead slid to the floor and brought their foreheads together, caressing Q’s chin. “Will it make you go nuts for me?” He brushed their lips together briefly, disappointed that Q didn’t move to follow him when he pulled back.

 

“Lord Bond—”

 

“If you would agree to making that kiss in the cave into something more than medicine forced down my throat, calling me ‘James’ would be better, don’t you think?” It was better if he finally cut the games with Q, wasn’t it? Just call things by their real name and hope for the best, correct? Though, if he were to go by the silence that was most definitely uncomfortable and stretching for far too long, he should have stuck with his ‘childish behaviour’. “Or we could forget about it, no pressure. No strings attached or reprimands and if you want to go, my offer still stands.”

 

He made to pull away, but Q grabbed his hand and stopped him. “You know that I will remain by your side even after this incident, right?” He managed to sit up without crying out in pain, James not daring to let go of his hand for fear of the man somehow manage to hurt himself. “You don’t have to go this far to keep me by your side.” He smiled sadly and brought James’ hand to his lips, placing a kiss on his knuckles before resting his forehead against it. “I will be your most loyal servant no matter how many stupid, reckless, and senseless things you do or how ridiculously daft you are.”

 

James chuckled and flicked his nose. “The servant mirrors his lord, you know.” They shared a laugh, but they were still in a misunderstanding so James turned serious again. “Q, we both know that I could chain you to me if I didn’t want you to leave and no one would dare say anything.” Okay, everyone would say something and the physician would personally poison him while Kincade and his wife falsified documents that would make Q the real lord of the estate. “But I am sane enough not to do that and, again, despite what you think of me, I know that you’ll forever be loyal to me. That being said, will you accept my confession and all that it entails?”

 

Q smiled and nodded without taking a single moment to think things, closing his eyes and pushing his lips forward. It was an adorably innocent gesture and James gave him a few pecks at first, finally cupping the back of his neck as he licked his lips until they parted and they finally had an actual kiss.

 

Their noses bumped against each other when they moved their heads and he was sure that he wasn't tasting the Q of his imagination, not with how many foul smelling teas had been poured down his throat and his tongue rough and mouth much to dry, but James loved the kiss. Their first real kiss, not a kiss of life, not a kiss of death, but a kiss of passion and maybe of love, and if Q wouldn’t have pulled back a little because he needed air, he would have gladly passed out from lack of it.

 

“Don’t just use me, okay?” Q gasped, pushing his face in James’ neck and clutching tightly to his shirt.

 

“You’re stuck with waking up to me until one of us croaks,” James whispered, placing a kiss on Q’s ear, almost starting to rub his back. “I promise to haunt you if I die first.”

 

Q snorted, nuzzling James’ head – although he might have been trying to simply shake his head. “I promise to do the same.”

 

Because James was going to do his best for that never to happen, he didn’t argue with Q about that and instead pulled him into another, short kiss. He then kissed down Q’s chin and focused on his neck, his hands wandered down Q’s sides, subtly checking the bandages while also – hopefully – pleasantly teasing him and maybe getting him in the mood for… not something he could currently do, so he really needed to stop.

 

“James,” Q moaned and tilted his head back to give him more space, entwining his fingers in his hair.

 

Hearing his name for the first time in a long time and such a needy and heated manner took everything he had in him not to push Q on his back and rip both of their pants off. “I think I just heard my new favourite sound in the world.”

 

Q tugged him up by his hair, giving him a hungry kiss before digging his teeth in his left earlobe. “Less talking and more everything if you want to hear it again, _James_ ,” he ordered, making James shiver.

 

“Your wish is my command,” James whispered and slid back down to the floor, drawing a little circle around Q's bellybutton – had he had no bandages around his torso, James would have happily licked and nipped his way down.

 

He had just started tugging down Q’s pants – their eyes connected in case the man changed his mind – when the door was kicked open and Kincade’s wife ran in. “My lord, a kitchen boy says he saw Q—oh, you found him, I’m glad. And he’s up, that’s good.” It took a moment for the woman to catch on to what was happening and when she did, instead of turning around and leaving them alone so James could kiss the embarrassment away and make Q forget about the world again by continuing what he had started like any person with common sense would do, she gave him a disapproving look and rested her hands her hips.

 

“I agreed and I wanted this,” Q said in their defence, wrapping his arms around James’ head and pushed him against his stomach in an attempt to protect him.

 

“He’s also already in his room, and in his bed,” James added in a muffled voice, arms wrapped around Q's legs. “But he does need new bandages, so if you could?”

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos are food for my muses.


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